A Small Fix
Landing Pad - Greenville - New Luna - --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Perched scenically on the edge of a cliff overlooking the choppy blue Independence Harbor, this solid-looking, plascrete landing pad is extremely expansive, larger than a small city. Neon green lines divide the pad into several landing strips, two capital ship landing sites, and hundreds of individual taxi spots. A tall control tower directs traffic onto and through the pad, and a wide, plascrete path leads into the city proper. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Grumbling and stooped over into the front hull of a small pod, Cooper appears to be tinkering with the motor of a relatively little shuttle. His upper body is concealed within the compartment of the motor, and his feet strain to their tips to give him that extra extension he needs. Erecting, he wipes his brow with the back of his left hand. This entails an oily streak across his fore. "Ah, feck," mutters the engineer. "Damn thing's all over the shop, can't fix 'er," he states sharply to a wide-berthed man beside him whilst selecting a rag and rubbing his hands with it. "Coul' salvage 'er, might get any cop from 'er." The owner of the vehicle contepmlates this though with a hand through his hair. "Couldn't yer just replace summat?" he waggles. The clicking of his chewing gum seems somewhat annoying, and the quivering of the fatty deposits on his chin only makes this more disturbing. "Hell, I could sell this piece o' shit myself, didn't hafta hire you..." Cooper Adkins cuts the owner short, his teary eyes quite commanding for the moment. In his hand he holds a small socket wrench - a simple enough tool, wether that be for means of repair or intimidation. In a show of the latter, the engineer waves it infront of his face, jerking it menacingly to punctuate his adamancy. "Oi, I ain' gon' argue the toss, but I did the work fair 'n sqaure. Y'want t'get argy-bargy wit' me, go right ahead, just as soon as yer pay me." Evidently, the owner has never encountered such stern reprimand. He shrinks back, chin to neck, his eyes a figure of scorned ambition. "Fen, fen," he surrenders, hands delving into pockets. "What'll it cost me?" Cooper Adkins smiles, and returns the aforementioned socket wrench to the side of the shuttle's hull. He leans back, hands behind him to support him, and the shuttle gives a slight creak to his weight. He shifts. "Th'hun'erd raydens, bub." His eyes twinkle - his first paycheck. "An' that's gen'rous o'me." A bit enraged at the price, the fat man withdraws a dark leather wallet. Flipping through plasticards and various paper bills, his sausage-like fingers grasp three navy blue, golden etched slips. Handing Cooper a two hundred-fifty denomination and two twenty five rayden bills, the payment is made. Almost sulking the owner slaps the fee into Cooper's hands. "Y'weren't out 'ere fer more than an hour!" he protests. Cooper Adkins makes a faint juggling motion with his shoulders, portraying his true uncaring attitude. "I 'spected her, I gave 'er a diagnosis." His fingers fold around the bills, stuffing them all to cock in his rear pocket. "Sounds t'me like you jus' made a killing, bloke," he cracks, stooping down to pick up his tools. "Mayhap in the afty I'll bob on down, pay y'visit. If y'still want ter fix 'er, I can." He pauses, a sly smile playing onto his scarlet lips. "It'll be costly. Most engines're." Turning on his heel Cooper begins to pace out of the plasticrete pad. The fat owner makes a fist, tossing it over his head as he waddles after Cooper in a show of animosity. "Bludgering idiot!" he exclaims after him, but the engineer is already gone. Category: Classic New Luna logs